Mine Alone
by MegStar96
Summary: The first in a four-part saga. Meg is just your average witch... who makes the mistake of falling in love with the future most evil wizard of the wizarding world. Tom Riddle/OC.
1. Chapter One Meg Lacroix

The girl sat in her compartment on the scarlet Hogwarts Express, humming to a catchy show tune that she had gotten stuck in her head. She was sitting alone, per usual, and nobody wanted to sit by the 'freaky genius girl' and risk having their reputation tainted.

It was September of 1938, and Meg Lacroix was entering her third year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She didn't expect it to be much different from her other years: a basic routine of acing school, being ignored, avoiding social situations, and being an all-around outcast. What fun. The only thing that made it bearable was her friend Minerva - the Gryfindor golden girl - who was the only person who deigned to eat with her, and the kindness of the Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryfindor house, Albus Dumbledore. The only problem was the fact that she wasn't in Gryfindor. She was in Slytherin.

The other Slytherins mainly ignored her. She was a half-blood, but she wasn't very well going to tell them that; they disliked her enough as it was. She was taunted frequently by all of them except, of course, Tom Riddle, since he didn't bother to socialize with anyone but his exclusive group of friends, which is to say, followers.

She was just reaching the chorus of the song she was humming, when the door to her compartment began to slide open. She drew her wand quickly, knowing that no one would come into her cabin unless it was to taunt her (Minerva had an appointment that day, and was flooing in later).

The real surprise was _who was walking in to her compartment. That who was… Tom Riddle. He looked at her oddly for a moment, and she flushed when she realized she was still mindlessly humming She stopped abruptly. He spoke._

_"What was that you were humming?"_

_She was taken aback. She had never heard him speak before, much less to her. Normally, she instinctively avoided situations that might be set-ups for a joke at her expense, but she somehow felt compelled to answer honestly. She replied, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow... from, er, from the film 'The Wizard of Oz.'"_

_"Hm..." he said vaguely, not making any indication that he was about to turn it into an insult. They sat in silence for the rest of the trip, her looking out the window. She had the strangest feeling that he was staring at the back of her head. _

_About fifteen minutes before their arrival at the Hogsmead train station, he broke the silence to say, "I suppose we should go change into our robes."_

_Meg nodded in response, and they each went in separate directions down the halls of the train; but when Meg returned to her compartment, there he was, now in his Hogwarts robes with the venom green Slytherin serpent on the front. _

_He looked at her matching robes with a look of mild surprise. "You're... in Slytherin." He didn't say it as a question, but that's how she took it._

_That's just great, she thought to herself. Even my own housemates don't know who I am. She decided to respond out loud. _

_"Yes," she said, a bit more defiantly that she had intended to. "I'm also in your year."_

_He still seemed shocked, but recovered more quickly this time, restoring his face to a blank, stoic expression. _

_"I didn't know." Was it just her, or did he sound a bit defensive?_

_The rest of the trip was in true, unbroken silence._

_That was the first time Meg Lacroix spoke to Tom Marvolo Riddle. The first, but not the last._


	2. Chapter Two Silence in the Library

Meg's second encounter with Tom Riddle happened a few weeks later, early one cold October morning.

"Blast!" Meg exclaimed, suddenly waking to an empty dorm room. She had just caught a glimpse at her antique pocket watch on her nightstand, which bore the terrible news that she had overslept by an hour, and was now late for class. She quickly pulled on her Slytherin uniform.

She was halfway out the portrait when she realized, with a jolt, that she had lost her book bag the previous evening. She thought it over for a minute, then remembered that she had left it in the library while studying the history of Belladonna.

She sprinted towards the library, hardly noticing the lack of shoe and sock on her left foot. Once she reached the big, musty smelling library, she ran to the shelf labeled 'Deadly Foliage' and found her all-important canvas duffel bag. She was immensely relieved until she looked at the nearest clock. Half-past nine. Not. Good.

She was dead-set on running down to the potions classroom, when she passed a solitary figure lounging nonchalantly in one of the library's plush armchairs. In fact… she tripped over its foot.

"Ouch!" she cried out as her head struck the Persian carpet that barely covered a hardwood floor. She glared daggers at whoever she had just tripped over. What she saw was a very taken aback Tom Riddle.

"I'm sorry," he offered, helping her up. "I didn't exactly count on crossing paths with a speeding bullet."

"Well," she huffed, looking affronted. "Wait - what are you doing up here, anyway? It's time for potions."

He looked out of sorts for a moment, then got an expression of bemused enjoyment. "R-really?" he said, holding back laughter. "Do you, by any chance, know what day it is?"

"No," she answered, furrowing her brow in confusion. "Should I?"

"Probably," he replied, "seeing as it's Sunday."

Canvas bag - 1 galleon

School books - 30 galleons, 5 sickles, 2 knuts

One shoe - 12 sickles

Meg's expression - priceless

Meg crashed into the nearest chair, sighing heavily. "So I _didn't_ have to get up early this morning?"

Tom laughed. "I'm afraid not."

They sat in companionable silence for the rest of the afternoon, reading to themselves.

_Maybe,_ Meg thought to herself, _that Tom's not so bad, after all._


	3. Chapter Three A Yuletide Riddle

**Hiya! It occurs to me I've been neglecting to put author's notes in the past couple chapters, so, here you go!**

For several months, Meg and Tom continued having these small run-ins. They were mostly small, seemingly unimportant happenings, but they began to forge a strange, distant sort of friendship between the two loners. This cycle of small meetings and brief conversations was the only time they talked to each other, as he could usually be found sauntering about the school with his band of follower-friends, whereas she preferred to spend her break periods in the library, generally avoiding people. Nothing truly important happened until Christmas vacation.

It was late December, and most students had gone home, preferring to spend the holiday with their families. The Slytherin girls were all going to be having a week-long slumber party at Zoë Parkinson's house - all except Meg, of course.

On the first day of break, she had awakened to a far-too-cold dormitory, immediately pulling her heavy wool Slytherin house coat over her green silk pajamas (which were, in the long run, not such a brilliant idea). She had pulled her hair into a messy headband, not expecting to see anyone around the common room, and rushed down the stone steps into what was hopefully a warmer area.

When she got into the common room, she sat on the floor in front of the fire and stretched out like a cat. She was in a state of perfect, uninterrupted bliss - until she heard some one clear their throat behind her.

"Oh!" she gasped, turning around quickly to find herself face-to-face with a certain Tom Riddle who was wearing a bemused smirk. "What are _you_ doing here?" she asked, rather rudely.

Tom looked even more entertained at this, but replied seriously, "I could ask you the same thing. I **always** stay for Christmas. Is this your first time staying over holiday break?"

"No," she shook her head. "I've always stayed here; I just usually spend the whole break reading by the lake. It was cold in the dormitory, so I had decided to come sit by the fire for a while. I overslept, you see." She managed to stop talking. She always babbled when she was nervous. Though _why_ she was nervous to any degree was beyond her.

"Really?" he asked with interest. "I mean, why?" he added, regaining his normal icy composure. She eyed him.

"Don't do that."

"What?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"Suddenly act all cold and distant. Honestly, you sound like Abraxas Malfoy," she chided gently. This made him laugh.

"And you," he said, smirking, "sound _just_ like the matron at the orphana-" He stopped himself, having said too much. All the laughter left his eyes, and his face drained, if possible, an even paler shade of ivory. "Never mind!" he snapped bitterly. "Don't meddle."

"Oi!" she snapped back. "No need to be harsh. You're the one that said it, not me. You know, I might have actually cared if you weren't such a spoiled, miserable prat!" And with that, she stormed off to her dormitory, positively fuming.

She was left to sulk for about one hour, at which point she was considering going down and apologizing. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a tapping was heard on her window. She turned to see what was making such a noise.

"What- oh!" she exclaimed, seeing a FACE staring back at her. "Tom?"

"Open the window," he mouthed through the glass, gesturing towards the latch.

Meg opened the window and said, rather harshly, "What do _you_ want?" At this point, she had completely forgotten her plan to apologize.

He looked angered for a moment, then his expression cleared, and he said, "Actually, I came to say that…" he hesitated, "I'm sorry. I behaved very rudely. It was very impolite of me to behave in such a way, particularly towards a lady." Hm, apparently he was playing the role of gentleman today.

Meg was taken aback, but didn't show it. Instead, she decided to show that _she_ could be cordial as well. "No," she said, "it was partially my fault. I shouldn't have responded in such a manner." She held out her hand to him. "Truce?" He took it.

"Truce."

**In the next chapter: Meg and Tom enjoy Yuletide at Hogwarts, and we find out exactly **_**why**_** Meg isn't going home for the holidays. Review, sil vous ples!**


	4. Chapter Four A Very Hogwarts Christmas

**Just for all of you fantastic folks that reviewed, I have finished another chapter, and it's a longer one (about 3 times the length of the others), too! Blah, blah, blah. Normal disclaimer stuff. Okay, now enjoy Tom and Meg's Christmas.**

Meg awoke the next day (which happened to be Christmas Eve) feeling somewhat strange, as though there was something she needed to remember, but it was stuck in the very back corners of her mind. What was it; what was it…? Aha!

She jumped up suddenly, remembering her plans for the day. She was going to treat Tom to breakfast, Hogwarts house elf style. She pulled her new mint jumper from Hogsmead on over a skirt, put in a pair of silver studded earrings, and sat down to brush her hair.

When she reached the hair part, she sighed in exasperation. Her short raven hair was about seven inches thick (thicker than it was long, even), and she could do absolutely nothing with it save for brushing it and leaving it down. After about ten minutes of trying to pin it up, she let it fall to her shoulders lifelessly, giving up.

After she had finished getting ready, she ran to the common room. She paced back and forth, tapping her foot, twisting the ends of her hair, waiting… waiting… waiting. It seemed like it was taking forever. Meg asked herself _why in the world_ she was so nervous. It was just Tom. Tom.… No. No, no; absolutely not. A thousand times no. She couldn't be having feelings for Tom. She just couldn't. Could she?

She scolded herself at the thought, and was quickly reminded of the fact that he was far above her social standing, and she didn't stand a chance. Besides, a boy like Tom could never like such a plain, dull outcast as Meg.

While she was pondering these thoughts, Tom came up behind her with a quiet, "Fancy meeting you here."

Meg jumped a foot into the air, completely caught off guard. _What if he heard me thinking? _she thought frantically, then laughed at such a ridiculous thought.

"What's so funny?" Tom asked, looking bewildered.

"Oh, was that out loud?" Meg replied, flushing red. "I was… uh… so… I was wondering if you'd like to go get some breakfast?"

"What did you have in mind?" She noted that he had a curious gleam in his eye.

"Well," she began, "I might possibly know of someplace that makes you whatever you want, whenever you want it. So, do you want to, or not?"

"Sure," he said. "Let's go."

They walked along the green-ish halls from the dungeon up to the main entry hall, then turned towards a well-lit, rather warm looking corridor decorated mainly with paintings of Helga Hufflepuff enjoying various founder-y activities.

"So, where _exactly _are we going?" Tom asked, clearly not recognizing the hallway.

"You'll just have to wait and see," Meg smirked. She was really enjoying this. Clearly, he didn't particularly like being kept in the dark.

_Interesting,_ Meg thought to herself, _I may be able to use that for a bit of fun._ She was surprised to find that she was actually thinking like a Slytherin… and that gave her an idea.

She walked a bit farther, came to a random stone urn propped against the wall, and sat down.

"What are you doing?" Tom quarried, looking confused and a bit frustrated.

_Perfect,_ Meg thought, then said out loud, "I have one condition. To find out where we are going, you must first answer a riddle."

"A riddle? Really?"

"I'd think they'd be your area of expertise, Tom _Riddle._" He bristled.

"Well," he said, looking very annoyed at this point, "get on with it, then."

"Ahem. When you have me, you want to share me with someone. When you share me with other people, you no longer have me. I am too much for one person, not enough for many people, perfect for two people, and sweeter when shared with friends. I can help you, but I can also ruin your life. I am the most terrible thing to keep, but the most dangerous thing to share. Who am I?"

Tom's eyebrows drew together in concentration. His blue eyes closed for a moment, and he thought it over. Wait, hold up. Since when did Meg know the colour of his eyes? She had to shake this thing, fast. Of course, spending most of her time with him wasn't exactly helping the situation…

"I think," he began, breaking her reverie, "… I think that it's… a secret. A secret is something you want to share, but no longer have once you share it." He opened his - blue - eyes. "Am I right?"

Meg sighed. "There's really no getting things past you, is there?"

Tom chuckled a bit, replying, "I'm afraid not. Now, please just tell me where we are going."

"No," she said slowly, adding to the suspense, "I'll show you."

Meg walked over to the largest portrait on the wall - a rather lifelike bowl of fruit - and tickled a pear, which caused the frame to slide out to the left, leaving a doorway.

They walked through the passage into a bustling, colourful kitchen, full of cheerful house elves. And they were singing.

"We wash the dishes, scrub the trays. Cook the crumpets and fillets. Fold the cloths and rinse the pots. Cooking, baking, making lots."

"So," Tom said, once they were seated on the floor, each with a tray of delicious Hogwarts cooking, "I told you, albeit inadvertently, why I'm here for Christmas. Now it's your turn."

Meg bit her lip. "You know, it's really not that interesting of a story. Maybe you'd rather hear the house elves sing another song? And-a-one, and-a-two, and-a-… no? Alright. Um, maybe not that…"

"Why can't you tell me?" Tom asked, looking her in the eyes. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Friends. Were they friends? Meg had very few of those, and she would love to have Tom as one of them.

"I'd think you'd have plenty of friends." _What_ possessed her to say that?

"Really? Because I don't seem to know about them." That shut her mouth. Besides the - what two or three? - followers she had seen him with, Tom Riddle didn't appear to have **any **friends.

"Well… I guess, I… could tell you." Tom smiled in satisfaction. Meg suspected that he was a hard person to keep any kind of secret from. "I… well, my mum and I… we don't get on to well. She thinks I'm wasting my life worrying about school. You see, she wants me to be some perfect little socialite, marry some rich friend of the family or something, and live in a manor, not doing anything with my life. I'd much rather just become a healer, y'know, help other people. Mum won't have it."

"That sounds horrible," Tom said sympathetically. "Surely your father…"

"My father… my father left when I was a little girl. He got tired of Mum's shoving him around, and he figured I'd turn out just like her. He didn't really care about us. Anyway, I'd just rather prefer to stay here over holiday break."

"Oh. I…"

"Look," Meg said, fixing him with a patented 'don't go there' look, "whatever you do, don't say that you're sorry for me. I've had enough pity for one life time."

"I was just going to say," Tom began defensively, "that I can understand what you're going through. My mother died in childbirth, but before that, my father was gone. He was a muggle, you see, and once he found out about Mum… he left. Married one of those socialites your mother so highly values, I believe."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"I just wanted you to know. This way, there will be two less people pitying each other." Meg smiled.

She was amazed at how he had opened up to her. That meant he must really consider her a friend. She was flattered. They went on talking about this for several hours.

"Just promise," he said after a while, "that you won't tell the other Slytherins that I'm half-blood."

"So long as you don't tell them that I am."

"Really?"

"Mum's a muggle. That's why she doesn't get the whole Hogwarts thing."

"How'd you get into Slytherin?"

"Same way as you - good old fashioned cunning." She looked up at the clock. "Well, it's late, and tomorrow is Christmas. We best be getting our rest."

Tom stood up first, then helped Meg up.

"Goodnight," he said, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, "and thank you for a wonderful Christmas Eve.

The next morning, Meg woke up with that excited, Christmas morning feeling. She pulled on her holiday-themed fleece pajamas and ran downstairs with the gift she had bought for Tom. She had seen him writing notes, drawing, and generally keeping records for months now, writing on whatever spare parchment scraps he could find. Because of this, she had gotten him a nice little black leather-bound journal - perfect for writing - and gotten his name etched into it.

She bounded down the stone stairs, tripping once she reached the bottom, and tumbled gracelessly into the common room where Tom was already waiting with a small box in shiny green wrapping paper.

"Morning," he said happily - or as happily as Tom Riddle could ever sound, and helped her up. She smiled widely back at him, hiding the package behind her back.

"Guess what I have behind my back!" she exclaimed, grinning even wider in anticipation.

"You know I don't like surprises," he said with mock sternness.

"Fine." She handed him his gift.

Tom took the brown paper off neatly, un-taping each corner in turn.

"Oh," Meg exclaimed in a bored manner, "we're not going to save the paper. Get on with it!" And with that, she ripped the paper entirely off the journal.

"Oh, Meg, thank you. It's lovely." He smiled one of those reaches-all-the-way-up-to-your-eyes smiles, so she knew he was being sincere. "And for you," he said, extending the green package in his hand out to her. She unwrapped it quickly, revealing a silver locket with an ornately carved 'S' in the shape of a snake, with shining emeralds for eyes.

"Tom!" she gasped. "It's beautiful! Thank you. Merry Christmas, Tom." She smiled up at him. This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Ideas? Suggestions? Comments? Critique? All much appreciated. In the next chapter: Tragedy strikes Hogwarts, Meg hears some unusual rumors about a giant snake, and our favorite Slytherin heir has some 'splaining to do. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter Five All Shook Up

**I'm back! You all probably thought I was dead or something, huh? I have returned, and with a vengeance! Any Harry Potter stuff belongs to J. K. Rowling, okay? If you don't recognize it, it's probably mine. Enjoy! (Oh, and just to throw you guys off, I'm gonna start with a little flash forward. Mwahahahaha!)**

- present day -

_A strange hissing noise, a girl screaming, the sound of bone hitting porcelain, then all goes silent. Meg Lacroix picked a bad time to make a nighttime stop to the restroom._

"Tom!" The now fifty-something Meg woke with a start, tangled in her sheets and covered with the cold sweat that only comes from a truly terrifying bête noire. "Just a dream," she whispered soothingly to herself. Lately these memories had been vivid and increasingly persistent in haunting her dreams. She knew it was only a matter of time before he came back. Before he died. She also knew that when he died, surely she must die too. She didn't know how she knew; she just knew it. Call it witches' intuition. Intuwitchion, if you will. Yes, it was all going to end soon, and it wouldn't be pretty.

- February 13th, 1939 -

Meg Lacroix had just wakened from a very unusual dream. The unusual part was that it was more of a… feeling… than a dream. Could you have feelings in your sleep? Was that an REM thing? A bit shaken, Meg decided to go to the loo. Not to _go_ go, but to splash some water on her face or something. _Why _didn't they have a restroom in the basement, again?

After making her way up several flights of moving stairs - a bit of a frightening feat at midnight, inside a big scary castle - Meg found herself a few yards away from her destination. That was when she heard the scream.

It was a shrill, otherworldly sort of scream, like that of a ghost. Or someone who had seen a ghost. Meg noted that it seemed to emanate from the nearby bathroom. She took off running, only to find a terrifying sight. One of the first year girls - Myrtle by name - appeared to be lying unconscious on the floor of one of the stalls. Meg crept towards her and gently nudged her in hope of waking her up. She didn't. The gentle nudge toppled her over, revealing still open grey eyes and a lifeless face in a perpetual expression of horror.

"Help!" Meg cried, running down the corridors to the office of the only person who could possibly know what to do - Albus Dumbledore. When she reached his office, she found herself running face first into a tall, bearded ginger man wearing a rather bright red nightgown. "Professor Dumbledore!" she yelped in alarm.

"What is it, dear child?" the man said gently.

Meg didn't enjoy the next part. Beginning to sob uncontrollably, she recounted how she had discovered a dead body in the bathroom.

"Sweet Merlin!" Dumbledore exclaimed, shocked by the tale. "We must alert the staff at once. And you, brave girl… here. Have some hot chocolate." He waved his wand and a steaming mug appeared. "Take this," his said kindly, "and head back to bed. There are no classes tomorrow, correct?"

"Y-yes, sir," a badly shaken Meg replied.

"Good," the transfiguration teacher said thoughtfully. "I highly recommend you sleep in. This must have been a rather trying ordeal. Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight, sir." And with that, she barely made it to her bed before falling into a deep and troubled sleep.

- the next day -

The following day, around noon, Meg was seated by the lake with Tom, a picnic lunch before them, and Meg was looking rather grief stricken with her knees tucked beneath her chin and her hair hanging in her eyes. She had been spending more and more time with Tom since Minerva was always so busy with her prefect duties.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Tom said gently. "It might help to share with someone."

Meg squinted and sighed before repeating her woeful tale. "Last night I was up and walking around, since I have been having trouble sleeping. I walked upstairs to the bathroom, and I heard a scream. When I went in, I saw the dead girl. No reason to be dead. No wounds or anything! She was just… dead." Fortunately, Dumbledore had told everyone about Myrtle's unfortunate demise at breakfast that morning, so no one was shocked by Meg's story.

"You seem very shaken by this," Tom said with what might have been concern flashing in his normally expressionless blue eyes.

"Of course I am!" Meg snapped, rather more spitefully than she had intended to. "How would you feel if you were minding your own business and you just happened upon a corpse?"

"I would manage. I'm used to being surrounded by death."

Meg sighed and then began apologetically. "I'm sorry, Tom. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's not your fault after all. I just… didn't think that sort of thing could happen here. Not at Hogwarts. And… and I'm scared. It was almost me. If I had been there a minute sooner, _I_ would've been the one that was killed."

"No. No, you wouldn't. Not you," Tom said too softly for her to hear. She continued.

"Suppose it **is** me next time! If Hogwarts isn't safe… I'll have to go home. No! I can't!" She broke into a whole new round of sobbing. Tom looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Suppose…" he began. "Suppose this whole thing stops, and no one else gets killed. Than they'd have to let us stay, wouldn't they? They would." He looked around quickly. "Meg, I'm going to show you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even your best friend."

"Of course, Tom. What is it?"

He glanced around again.

"Follow me."

**Ooh, this sounds interesting! What happens next? You'll have to read to find out. Aren't I just so evil? XD**


	6. Chapter Six Deep Within the Catacombs

**Sorry about the cliffy, guys. I was feeling a bit evil. Anyway, Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me. If it did, Tom Riddle would have a happy ending and Hermione would fall in love with Draco as opposed to the ever bumbling Ron. 'Kay, enjoy the chapter! (P.S. the last part is sort of inspired by this part from an episode of NCIS, so whoever figures out where I got it from first gets to be a cameo in a later chapter. Kudos!)**

"Where are we going?" Meg asked, a bit nervous.

"Somewhere important. Just - just give me a minute." He lead her down a winding series of passageways until they found themselves in the room Meg had stood in just twelve hours ago.

"Tom!" she screeched, alarmed that he had brought her back to this place - the girls bathroom where Myrtle had died. Had been killed. Was this some kind of sick joke?

"Shhh," he said soothingly. "Just close your eyes." Meg was debating whether or not to trust him.

_Yes, _she decided, _he's my friend. I _do_ trust him. _"All right," she aid out loud, and closed her eyes. After losing sight of the gruesome room, she heard a strange, melodic sort of hissing noise, and the sound of metal scraping against marble. She felt the floor shake beneath her. She felt arms around her.

"It's all right," Tom whispered. "I've got you." And with that, she felt herself being nudged gently forward, until she had move about three feet. Tom picked her up, lifting her slightly off the ground, and jumped.

"Tom? Wh-what?" Meg was cut off by her own screaming as they dropped about ten feet and landed on some hard stone surface.

"Okay, we're here," Tom said, still whispering. "You can open your eyes now." She did, and what she saw was a long stone chamber, full of green-ish light and the sound of dripping water.

"Where _is _'here,' exactly?" Megan asked, fixing Tom with one of her best death glares. Tom laughed. Even in what could very well be a dire situation, she completely lacked the ability to be intimidating.

"You'll see," Tom said vaguely, a smile still lingering on his lips. They walked down the damp hallway, not stopping until they reached a stone door adorned with snakes that appeared to be made out of - ball bearings? Tom made that strange hissing sound again. To Meg, it sounded as though he was singing. She listened harder, and this time, she could make out words.

"_Open… open for me…" _And it did. The door, for lack of a better word, animated.

"Tom?"

"Yes, love?" She allowed herself to smile briefly at his newly acquired nickname for her. She rather liked it.

"What you were saying just then - you told the door to open, and it did."

"Yes. The door only responds to someone speaking Par-" an unidentifiable look crossed his face. "You… understood what I just said?"

"Of course. You were speaking plain English, if with a bit of a ridiculous accent. As though you were trying to sing with something lodged in your throat." He looked astounded. One word escaped his awestruck lips.

"Parselmouth."

"What the bloody hell is a Parselmouth?" Meg demanded, thinking she was being insulted.

"It's someone… Meg - it's someone who can talk to snakes."

"Oh." She seemed to accept that answer. "So is that a good thing, then?"

"Depends. It's good because now I'm not the only one-"

"Oh, yeah, you're one, too."

"Yes, love, but don't interrupt. It's also bad because most people find it an odd… talent."

"Well," she said in a determined tone, "I think it's absolutely smashing. So what is it you were showing me?"

"Oh, yes, of course." He gestured grandly to the room behind the stone portal, and Meg beheld a great statue of a man with a beard.

"Is that… Salazar Slytherin?" she asked dazedly.

"In fact, it is." He smiled before regaining his composure as he realized he was about to show her something that might scare her to death. "You know what, Meg? Maybe it's best we save this adventure for another time." He pushed her halfway back out the door before she even realized what was going on.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold it. Are you telling me you dragged me all the way down here to _change your __**mind**_? I don't think so! Now, you're going to show me whatever it is you were planning on showing me, and that's that." She finished by sitting down stubbornly. He sighed in resignation then sat down beside her.

"Fine. But you might want to prepare yourself for this." He cleared his throat then began to hiss in Parseltongue once more. "_Come to me, my pet. Come and meet your master. But don't harm the girl. She is one of us."_ Before Meg could ask what the _heck_ he was going on about, what should her eyes behold but… the Basilisk. Now, Meg was a brave girl - not recklessly so like a Gryffindor, mind you, but brave enough to face her fears - so when a giant serpent came slithering out of her house-founders giant stone mouth, she at least asked Tom what was going on before panicking.

"Meg, meet the Basilisk."

"No, no. Tom, get away from it. I've read all about these things. They can kill just by looking at you, without even leaving a trace. Kind of like…" Tom watched, holding his breath as she started putting two and two together. "_Myrtle._ Tom, we have to get out of here now. That thing killed Myrtle!"

"I know." Tom stood up. "I told it to." Meg stood up quickly, noting with concern that she was backed up against a wall.

"No, no, that's not possible, because that would mean…" Another piece clicked. "This is the chamber of secrets. That's means you're the heir of Slytherin."

"Meg," Tom pleaded, "I can explain. Come here. I've told it not to hurt you. _I_ won't hurt you." He had a traumatized look in his eyes that she wasn't used to seeing, and it worried her.

"How can I trust you now?" Meg looked at him like she would a crushed flesh-eating slug on the sole of her shoe. She looked confused. Most of all she looked hurt, and that really stung Tom. "How can I trust you after you've done something like this? Why, Tom? Don't I deserve to know that much, at least?" He sighed again.

"Okay," he said. "Here's how it is. As you said, I am the heir of Slytherin. The others, they- they told me I had no choice. That I couldn't control it. That it was my _destiny_." He frowned, spitting the last word out like spoiled pumpkin juice. He clearly didn't enjoy the concept of being told what to do. "One thing lead to another, and soon, I didn't know how to control it anymore. It was like…" He looked down at his feet.

"What?" Meg asked.

"It was like I was being controlled by Salazar Slytherin. Like I wasn't even in control of the blood flowing through my own veins. And I hate it. I don't like killing, and hurting, and causing trouble. How do you think it felt when I saw all the life leave that Myrtle girl eyes in one split second? How do you think it feels to take another persons life, and then instantly regret it? I'm going to have to live with that my entire life. And now, you're going to have to tell, I just know it. I wouldn't want you to have to live with a secret like that. I couldn't ask you to do that for me. And of course the possibility that I didn't do it of my own free will is out of the question. Dumbledore already doesn't trust me. I mean think about it! I'm in Slytherin, for one. And besides that, I'm immature, I'm angry, and I like control! I'm going to get expelled from the one place I've ever felt safe, and happy, and at home, and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing!" By the end of his rant, Tom had fallen to his knees and tears were readily streaming down his face. Most people would have found this situation difficult, but one of things Meg Lacroix was best at was comforting upset people, and she was rather pleased that Tom had been so open with her.

"Sh, sh," she kneeled by him, putting a comforting arm around his shoulder. "I understand. It's all right. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"You're not?"

"I understand what it's like to have Hogwarts as your one and only home." She let out a bittersweet laugh. "Oh, believe me; I know. I can help. Watch, I'll end this whole ordeal. We'll stay here, and no one is going to be leaving Hogwarts." She stood up and faced the Basilisk that had been silently lurking in the corner during Tom's monologue. She stood herself so that she was looking just above the creature's head, and hissed out the best she could, "_Your work here is done, beast. Go back to your slumber, and kill no more. Sleep… for all of Tom's lifetime, sleep…"_ The beast seemed to hear her, as it proceeded to slither into a large pipe, curl up, and let out strange noises that could only be Basilisk snores.

Meg turned back to face Tom. "Okay," she said, understanding that this entire event would wreak havoc on his pride, "let's make a pact. Neither of us speaks of this day, ever again. Deal?" She offered her hand.

"Deal."

**So what did you guys think of the whole Basilisk thing? I thought it would be cool to make Meg a Parselmouth, 'cause I figured it would be an easy and creative way to resolve the issue. I was a bit anxious about Tom's whole 'opening up' thing, because I thought it might be a bit too OOC, but I thought that after thirteen years of bottling up your emotions, at some point, something's gonna happen. Rate and review, sil vous ples! Oh, next chapter, we see some of the earliest entries in the infamous diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle. ****J**


	7. Chapter Seven Dear Diary

**Ah, back with another chapter! I don't own anything you recognize - I think we've established that at this point. So, also. I want to thank you people who reviewed, it makes me very happy, and a happy writer is a writer who writes fast. Mwah! *gives 50 house points to anyone who reviewed* Okay, so I was having some writers block, and I thought it might be a nice break to just look at some of the stuff leading up to Tom and Meg's friendship. So, enjoy.**

_Diary,_

_The most interesting thing happened today. I was beaten. At chess. By a girl. My pride is rather bruised. I'm going to bed now. Goodnight._

_Tom Riddle - December 5th__, 1938_

__

It was the third day of holiday break. Meg and Tom were sitting on the floor of the Slytherin common room, completely rapt in the game before them. Tom smirked after making a stunning play, sure he had beaten her this time. No one ever beats Tom Riddle at chess; it's a fact of science, like gravity, or motion. It just is.

For that reason, he was caught completely off guard when Meg silently watched his queen fall, then (once she was sure it was over), she broke into her own smirk, with a cheeky exclamation of, "I hope you've still got room for dinner after all that crow you just ate."

"Y-you…" Tom stuttered, which was odd for him. "How did you beat me? That's- that's impossible!"

"I think we've established that it is _very_ possible."

__

_Dear Diary,_

_I am completely fascinated by this girl. Most people seem to fear me, cower under my gaze, but she simply sees me as… as an equal. I can't understand what it is about her, other than perhaps a bravery not common among others. It intrigues me. No, I can't let my thoughts dwell on her. I have no feelings towards her. She is simply a puzzle - a riddle that needs solving. That's all._

_Tom Riddle - December 8__th__, 1938_

__

He watched her turn the pages of the History of Magic textbook. She was brilliant in all subjects except this. She was still kicking herself for only getting an 'Acceptable' on her last exam. Tom had offered to tutor her, as he was flawless in the subject.

"During the lifetime of Esmeralda the Elusive, what major event stirred the wizarding world?" Tom quizzed.

"The Great Ogre Rebellion of…" She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "1435."

"Yes, good." She returned to her feverish reading of the book that sat in her lap. Tom had never seen someone absorb knowledge so feverishly, as though it was air to her. He understood the feeling. Every day, Meg Lacroix became more interesting, and it was beginning to worry Tom.

'No,' he thought to himself, 'I can't get close to anyone. Not while I have the Basilisk to worry about.'

__

_AUGH! NO. I am NOT letting myself get close to her. This cannot be happening! This is wrong - all wrong. I'm the bloody Heir of Slytherin for Merlin's sake! I have to go clear my head…_

_Tom Riddle - December 13__th__, 1938_

__

"You've NEVER been Christmas caroling?" Meg stood facing him with her mouth hanging agape. "But it's a rite of passage!"

He shrugged elegantly. "I just… never had the opportunity. The orphanage isn't very big on letting people OUT."

"Well," she looked excited, "I suppose this will be your first time, then!"

"My first-"

"Go on, get your coat." She shoved him in the general direction of the boys dormitories. Moments later he was back again, this time sporting a black blazer. Meg latched onto his arm and practically dragged him to Hogsmead. They spent the day caroling to all of the shops, which Tom was surprisingly good at. Afterwards, they went into the Three Broomsticks for hot chocolate before retiring for the evening.

__

_Diary,_

_How much could having just one friend hurt me, honestly?_

_Tom Riddle - December 25__th__, 1938_

**So, any good? Oh, if any of you guys have any ideas that might help me overcome this blasted writers block, please comment!**


	8. Chapter Eight Vol de Mort

**I got an idea! The writers block was overcome when I heard a strange sound in my head as I sat before a bowl of Ramen Noodles - Meg was yelling at Tom. A confrontation? Sounds fun! So, yeah, don't own any of this stuff. No suing me, 'kay? Oh, and so no one is confused, this takes up where six left off, right after the Basilisk.**

Once they were seated comfortably on the black leather couch of the Slytherin common room, Tom breathed an audible sigh of relief. It came too early.

"You bloody idiot! What were you thinking?" Megan shouted, throwing a punch at his side. As she had the upper body strength of a paperclip, the punch itself didn't hurt a bit; it was her sharp tone and harsh words that made him flinch, inwardly, at least. He was usually so observant, and yet he had failed to notice the fact that she was using her full emotional restraint to keep from lashing out at him while he was having his emotional breakdown in the Chamber.

"I- I wasn't-"

"That's right, you weren't!" She had a severe scowl now. "I am so disappointed in you. I honestly thought I knew you better than that. How many more, Tom? How many others have you killed? How many other people had to die because of your 'destiny'? How many, Tom?" She was near sobbing at this point, hurt, anger, and mistrust flashing in her eyes in quick succession.

He sighed. "Three besides Myrtle." He looked down, able to face the horror and disgust he was sure would be showing on her face. "My father and his parents. I… can't excuse what I did. I was angry, though that doesn't make it right, of course. I was angry, and I didn't know what to do - who to talk to. I couldn't tell a teacher: I'd get kicked out of school!"

She looked at him, sadness now evident in her expression. "Why didn't you tell me, Tom? I could have helped. I would have listened." She reached out to touch his hand, but then hesitated, stopping about one inch away, her hand just hovering there.

He scowled. She was disgusted with him - not even able to touch him; he was disgusted with himself. "I should have told you. It was pride. I didn't-"

"Didn't think I was _worthy_ of helping?" she spat, angry once more.

"No, no! Nothing like that. I didn't want you to… think less of me. You're the only friend I have, and I didn't want to lose you." He looked at her imploringly. She must have seen the sincerity in his eyes.

She sighed. "Can't argue with that, can I? Tom, I'm still not happy about this, and it's going to take a while before I can trust you again, but I'm not going to tell anyone." She put her hand on his. "I don't think you're a lost cause, Tom. There's hope for you yet." He smiled. He couldn't have asked for a better reaction. She smiled back briefly, then looked serious again. "Now what?"

"Now," Tom stretched out on the sofa, "we have a free period, and no homework. Now, we relax." He put his arms behind his head and said, "Tell me about your childhood."

She relaxed too, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning her head back on the cushions. "Why?"

"I didn't really have one of my own, so I like to hear about others'."

She closed her eyes, remembering. "I used to play with my cousins during the summer. They moved away last year, back to France. Before that, I would play with them almost every day. It made life bearable, everything considered."

"_Back_ to France?" He picked up on her phrasing.

"That's where my family came from originally. My last name's Lacroix." But of course he hadn't known that.

"You… don't sound French," he said, treading lightly.

"We moved when I was two. I speak it perfectly, though. _Il a ete ma premiere langue et favori._" She smiled proudly. "My first and favourite language."

"You don't look French either."

She raised an eyebrow. "Doubting me?" She shook her head. "Mum's Irish. She got the bright red hair, I got the black, but we both have the same eyes. According to Mum, Dad looked French… when he was still around."

"Fascinating." He looked thoughtful. "Oh, I interrupted your story. You were saying, about your cousins?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah." She recollected her thoughts. "We used to run around the yard playing this game where we would run around in a field, tagging one another, and if we were tagged, we had to fall to the ground, "dead," and the last person standing was the winner. We called it _Vol de Mort,_ as I recall."

He looked intrigued. "_Vol de Mort? _What does that mean?" Meg rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Tom. You can translate spells out of Latin, a language that's been dead for _centuries_, and yet you can't translate three words of simple French." He did not look amused. "Vol de Mort literally means 'Flight of Death.' That's why we acted dead when tagged, see?" She looked down at the parchment and quill on the table and said, "What's your middle name?"

"…Marvolo," he grudgingly replied. He hated the oddness of his middle name, almost as much as he hated the utter normality of his first name. Meg wrote out, 'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' on the parchment, scratching out letters and writing, 'Voldemort,' above it.

"Hm…." She tapped the quill against her lip, thinking. "The left over letters are: m, a, o, r, i, d, and l. That could be…" she scratched out more letters, "I am. But what-"

"Lord," Tom muttered. He had always been quick at anagrams.

"Hm?"

"The remaining letters spell 'Lord.' It makes 'I am Lord Voldemort.' I… actually quite like the sound of that. 'Lord.'"

"Tom," she laughed. "You are destined for power, I think. Maybe you'll become the next Minister of Magic! Or, barring that, the _Prime Minister._"She was teasing. He threw a pillow at her. She was teasing, but he took some of it to heart. He was destined for power, if only because she said he was.

"Love?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"Would you teach me to speak French?" The sincerity of his request floored her.

"Oh, yeah, of course!" She smiled. It almost made her forget the fact that her best friend was a teenage mass murderer. Almost.

**So, yeah. A bit of a slow moving chapter, in my opinion, but I kind of needed it as a transition, know what I mean? By the way, I know Meg went kind of easy on Tom, all things considered, but she's the type to see good in almost anyone, and if Tom got kicked out, my story would have to meet an untimely demise. Right? Okay, so - next chapter: hint - the WAY overdone cliché chapter that EVERY Harry Potter Cannon/Original Character story must have. Figured it out yet? Amortentia in Potions Class? You know it! Teehee!**


	9. Chapter Nine Smells Like Love

**Come one, come all to the much awaited Amortentia Chapter. SO sorry about the long wait. First rehearsals, then school started up, and then I started this whole Misfits thing, and... *shakes head* But I'm back, baby, and better than ever! Let the clichés begin!**

"Amortentia? Really? At our level?"

"I know. I swear, I could make it in my sleep. But, hey, he's the teacher." Tom laughed heartily at this, slinging Meg's canvas bag over his shoulder as they made their way to Potions.

Meg tucked that away in her mind for later. She had been noticing him doing that sort of thing a lot lately. Just small things, mind you, but there had been many of them. Carrying her bag, pulling out her chair for her, letting her wear his coat when it was cold out, that sort of thing. She told herself it was just normal best friend behaviour, but somewhere, in the very back of her mind, she suspected – she _hoped_ – that it was more than that.

"Is everything okay, love?"

Once again, it was Tom who brought her back to reality. It killed her a little every time he called her love... but of course, he didn't know that. "Hm?" _Oh, Merlin, was I staring?_ "Oh, it's nothing. Just tired, I suppose."

"More nightmares?" he noted with evident concern.

"No. Not nightmares. Tired. Just tired. Erm... let's get going, or we'll be late to class."

Tom shrugged, not quite convinced, and they walked once more towards the dungeons. Once seated, they turned their attentions towards Slughorn.

"Now, class – can anyone tell me what this is?" He gestured at a small cauldron of a clear liquid. "Don't everyone answer at once."

Meg looked around. The only people with their hands raised were her and Tom. Tom, out of courtesy, lowered his.

The whole class stared at him, including Meg and Slughorn. Tom Riddle _not_ answering a question in _Potions_? Wasn't that a sign of the Apocalypse?

"What?" Tom glared. "I thought I'd give Meg a chance to answer one, since clearly she's the only one of you who knows _anything_ about potions." Most everyone looked away uncomfortably.

"Ahem," Slughorn cleared his throat. "Very well, then. Miss Lacroix, would you like to answer this one?"

"Yes, professor. That would be Amortentia. It creates the illusion of love. It is unique among potions because it's scent depends on the user. It smells like whatever the person smelling it finds attractive."

"Exactly right. Ten points for Slytherin. Now, I'd like all of you to form a line, and take turns smelling the potion, so we can see how the scent differs from person to person. Miss Lacroix... perhaps you would like to go first?"

"Sure, professor." Meg stepped up to the desk, inhaling the potion's fumes deeply. "Mm..." she sighed as the scent tickled her senses. "It smells... good. Like... ink, parchment, and... silver and some sort of... tweed fabric and... lavender."

From the back of the room, Tom was blushing profusely, due to the fact that he washed in lavender soap every day, and did, in fact, smell of it this very day. _No,_ he thought. _She doesn't feel the same way. She's seen what you are... what you've been. If anyone, she's the _least_ likely to have feelings for me._

"Mr. Riddle," the teacher said several minutes later.

"Professor?"

"Everyone else has gone. Are you waiting for a formal invitation?"

"No, sir." And with that, he approached the cauldron. "I smell... what is that? Leather, and silk. A sort of... book smell. Like the library. And vanilla. Vanilla and mint."

Meg's face turned a brilliant scarlet. She used a vanilla body spray and mint toothpaste. But... _No,_ she thought. _He's perfect. Too perfect. That kind of thing just doesn't happen. Not to people like me. He deserves better._ And with that, she shoved the thought into the back of her mind, where it belonged.

**Aw, how tragic. Both pining after one another, and neither knows. Sound almost like Shakespeare, huh? Now, I just gotta figure out how this dilemma is going to resolve itself...**


	10. Chapter Ten Arguing with Myself

**Okay, I'll admit, I'm a bit of a softy when it comes to teenage psychopaths, and it's just killing me how Meg and Tom are getting virtually nowhere in their relationship thus far. I'm gonna prolong any further happenings for now, at least until I get some reviews from you guys. What do you think? Moving too slow? Too fast? For now, enjoy some filler stuff that I needed to explain some stuff. I think I'll do it in character POVs, because, I don't know about you, but I sort of want to get inside their heads and see what's going on in their. Anyway, here it is!**

"Meg?"

"Yeah?" I looked over the top of the Jane Austin book I was reading at Tom.

"What... what do you... I mean- I've never seen you with..." Tom, having trouble finding words? Well, this can't be good...

"Spit it out, love."

"What is it that you look for in a... boy?" Well, that was a somewhat abnormal question...

"Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know more about you, that's all." I felt my face flush. He really needed to stop saying stuff like that.

"Well..." I began, thinking my words through carefully. I couldn't let on that I had feeling for him. I couldn't! Oh, just thinking about it – the humiliation! "I think I'd like someone who I could have an intelligent conversation with."

"So Malfoy's pretty much out of the question."

"Yes," I laughed. "That's a scary thought."

"You were saying?"

"Well, they'd have to be... sensitive. Not a pushover, mind you, but someone who's not afraid to let their feelings show. And someone honest. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a liar. There has to be trust in a relationship, right?"

"Right."

-Tom-

**A/N: In my mind, Tom has a bit of schizophrenia, so if you see his thoughts in _italics_ that's his... other side. I mean, come _on._ We can't have him completely perfect. That would be ridiculous. Confused? Good.**

That's it. I'm never lying again. _No, stop, can't have these thoughts, Tom. You have a mission, remember? Some filthy half-blood isn't going to get in the way of that, now is she?_ Don't speak of her like that! She's... _Tainted._ Perfect. I... I even think I might... _Stop right there, Tom. You're under the influence of a simple teenage crush. You can't let it sway you from-_

"Tom?" Meg was looking at me with that adorable concerned look hovering in her green eyes. _You've lost it, Tom!_ Well, obviously. "Are you okay? You sort of got all silent and just... stopped!"

"I'm fine. Just... tired." _Pathetic, isn't it? Echoing her words without even realizing it. You've lost to this girl she has power over you, and we can't have that, Tom._ No, stop! I don't... want... this, I- "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow." I stood up abruptly, startling her, by the look she was giving me. I couldn't stand that look, but I knew that if I stayed, with those thoughts... those thoughts that I couldn't control, I would likely do something I would regret. Above anything else, Meg's safety is what mattered.

I can control this. I can stop this. _Oh, really?_

**Bwahahahahaha! Review!**


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